Scooby Doo: An Origin Story
by takethetardis97
Summary: How did the Mystery Inc. first join forces? This isn't my usual type of fic, I kind of did it on a whim, so bear with me. Rating is for language and mention of drugs. If you don't like it, don't read it!
1. Chapter 1

A sweater clad arm shot up for the twentieth time that class period. Mr. Bartlett, a balding biology teacher who most people loathed, scanned the class for any other hands. Finally, he was forced to call on the bespectacled girl, who perched at the edge of her seat with magnified, eager eyes.

"The system you described, Mr. Bartlett, is an example of allopatric speciation," Velma answered comprehensively, folding her hands back on her desk. The older man nodded, primed to carry on his lecturing. Before he could continue; however, a voice arose from behind the clever brunette at the front of the class.

"Jesus, Dinkley," sounded the charming voice, "Why don't you just _teach_ this class?" Giggles from girls filled the room. Velma didn't have to turn around to know that it was Fred Jones who had made the remark. Nevertheless, she did turn, trying to give him a dirty look but finding it challenging because of his perfect face. Mr. Bartlett ignored the jocular comment, while Velma turned a bright shade of pink. She still wondered how the blonde brute behind her made his way into a college level biology class. Fred Jones irked her; that much she knew. Words couldn't describe how much she hated that beautiful son of a bitch.

The bell echoed harshly and the class was dismissed. Fred found himself surrounded by kittenish girls before he had even left the room. As he entered the hallway, though, he caught sight of the gorgeous redhead that had been riddled in his desires for years. Daphne Blake strutted towards him, eying him with seductive emeralds.

"Fred, where the fuck were you last night?" she laughed with an insolent tone that defied her gorgeous face. Fred smirked, grabbing the cheerleader by her waist.

"I was out with Josh," Fred laughed, and Daphne perked up. "Out," she knew well, was a euphemism for getting high when dealing with Fred's stoner of a teammate. Josh Arnett nearly got kicked off the football team a handful of times for his possession of weed.

"You should take me tonight," Daphne suggested, running a slender finger down his chest. For a sheltered rich girl, she really knew how to party. She hoped that going out with Fred and ignoring her schoolwork would help take her mind off things.

"Damn, you should've asked sooner," Fred apologized, and Daphne immediately stopped her flirtatious gestures, "J-man just ran out of the green." Daphne folded her arms and pouted slightly, turning somewhat away from the boy.

"Damn. I was _really _hoping to smoke something tonight," she whined suggestively, "It's been a _long_ week." Fred gave her a concerned look and attempted to hug her, but the redhead turned away once more. She had the boy wrapped around her dainty little finger.

"That kid Norville Rogers is always high," Fred offered to the dissatisfied girl, "Maybe he'll bum us some." Daphne scrunched her nose as if she had smelled something foul.

"You mean that weird hippy kid who sits in the back of our English class?" Fred nodded apprehensively. Daphne sighed, but nodded reluctantly after thinking it over. The kid seemed to have access to a lot of pot.

Short-heeled shoes clicked against the tiled floor as Velma Dinkley headed towards her Calculus class. She paused when she caught sight of Fred and Daphne standing idly in the hallway.

"Don't you two ever go to class?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious. Daphne stepped forward, scoffing at the shorter girl and speaking with an obnoxious delivery.

"Don't you ever wear anything but sweaters, Dinkley?" she hissed, "Why don't you go fuck a calculator." Fred thought the words were very severe, not to mention nonsensical, but he decided to back up the attractive girl. Velma looked affronted and, having nothing to reply, walked dumbly into her math class. The two kids in the hallway waited a good five minutes after the bell to head to English.

Mrs. Duvall droned, and Fred had ignored the assigned seating arrangement to catch a spot closer to Norville. The kid's light brown hair covered his eyes, and there was faint stubble on his chin. The boy was so thin; it looked as though the touch of a hand could shatter his bones. He wore headphones that took him to another world, and he seemed to be enjoying a euphoria that began when he lit up in the bathroom earlier. The charming blonde fellow tapped him on his shoulder, disrupting his daydream.

"Yo Norville, is it cool if we all have a toke at your place tonight?" Fred inquired, seeming unaffected by the fact that he barely knew the guy.

"Like, the name's Shaggy, bruh," the other teen replied, taking off his headphones. Fred offered him a blank stare, not giving a shit about what this stoner kid went by. Shaggy seemed to zone out again, and Fred had to snap him back to focus. He replies, "Sure, you guys can smoke with me. Just, like, you and the cheerleader?"

"Yeah, bro. Real relaxed," Fred replied, and Shaggy didn't seem at all confused by the arrangement, "How's seven, Shag?" The pot-head nodded understandingly and returned to his music and his dream world.

After class, Fred and Daphne started heading to lunch. When they arrived, they sat at their normal table, which was made up of football players, cheerleaders, and rich kids. Across the cafeteria, Daphne saw Velma, who was sitting at a table with other honors students and band geeks. She swallowed guiltily, rethinking her previous encounter with the geeky girl.

"I'm going to go apologize, Fred," she announced, a drip of humanity in her voice for the first time that day. As she stood, she heard snorts from across her table. Josh had nearly choked on his sandwich.

"I must've smoked something, did I just here Daph say she was going to _apologize?_" he uttered with snickering boys backing him up. Daphne ignored them, walking directly towards Dinkley's table.

"Velma, can I talk to you?" she asked, trying to sound as polite as possible. The clever girl wasn't buying it, and Daphne began to grow impatient, "_Please?_"

Eventually, she had coaxed the younger girl to follow her into the hallway. She faced her, looking down apologetically. "I'm really sorry about earlier."

Velma seemed convinced that she meant it. "It's okay," she replied softly, "It was none of my business what you guys were up to."

_Damn right, _she thought. Nevertheless, Daphne kept her pink lips shut until the girl was finished. Finally as a polite gesture, she said, "Fred and I are going to hang out and smoke tonight if you wanna come…" _Of course this prude is going to say no._

To Daphne's surprise, she saw a flash in Velma's eyes. The shorter girl licked her lips, actually _intrigued _at the offer. She quickly tried to hide it.

"Are you actually thinking about coming?" Daphne asked, taken aback. The bespectacled girl rubbed the toe of her modest, red shoe on the ground, embarrassed. Daphne placed her hands on her hips, slightly amused.

"I'm well aware of the detrimental effects that cannabis has on the brain," Velma began articulately, "I've just always wanted to try it…" The wild glimmer returned to her large brown eyes for another brief moment. Daphne suddenly realized that the quiet, reserved girl had just been _waiting_ for an excuse to go wild.

"Wow, Dinkley, this is unexpected," Daphne sniggered, and Velma turned bright red, "What's next for you, crystal meth? Heroin?" Velma gave the older girl a derisive glance, placing a single hand on her hip.

"The weed's fine, thanks," she sneered, and with that, she turned on her heel and strutted back to the cafeteria, the click-clack of her shoes reverberating against the lockers. Before she went through the door, though, Velma turned back and glanced at Daphne one last time.

"See you tonight."


	2. Chapter 2

White smoke coalesced in the air above Shaggy as he took a drag. He was sprawled haphazardly across the couch with a blunt held carefully between his slender fingers. His dog, a large, seven-year-old Great Dane, lounged sleepily on the floor beneath him. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and his dog's ears perked up.

"Raggy," Scooby barked, staring up at him, " Is rat da rizza?" Shaggy chuckled, standing to answer the door. "No Scoob, we didn't order a pizza." He paused before answering the door, exclaiming, "We should order a pizza!" Then, he turned the knob and pulled.

"Who are you talking to?" Fred asked, staring behind Shaggy curiously.

"Scooby," Shaggy said shortly, as if the blonde man were a moron. As they walked in, the tall thin boy added, "Like, I see you brought someone."

"Yeah, this is Velma," Daphne explained, and Velma seemed thrilled, "I hope it doesn't cramp your style to have some sophomore hanging out with us." Shaggy waved his hand to indicate his apathy, and he sat behind the coffee table, which had a grass and paper scattered about.

"So, how much you guys going to pay me?" the tall scruffy boy asked, gesturing down to his stash. Velma was confused, Daphne stared nervously at Fred, and Fred spoke with his signature silver tongue.

"Come on, Shaggy. We're buddies!" Fred laughed. Shaggy nodded considerately, seemingly forgetting that he hadn't talked to Fred before that day. He stared at the three other kids with red-rimmed eyes and smiled weakly.

"Consider this a trial run," he said reluctantly, rolling a joint with the precision that came with experience. The other three settled, doing the same. Fred and Daphne had it down, but Velma's seemed to keep unraveling. She had ever rolled before. "Here," Shaggy said, rolling the paper artistically and, when finished, placing it between Velma's full lips. A thin hand rose, lighting the joint. Velma inhaled, coughing slightly, but eying the rest wildly. A wave of euphoria overtook her.

Soon, the kids were higher than kites. The cluttered basement blossomed into a land of enchantment, and the laid back with eyes glazed over, staring into beautiful nothingness. None of them had said a word for twenty minutes. Suddenly, an inane voice echoed its way into their daydreams.

"We should solve mysteries, guys," Fred drawled, bringing the joint to his perfect lips for another toke. Shaggy sat up, eyes wide as if he had just heard the best idea of his life. He stood up, towering over the other three, and waved his arms enthusiastically.

"That's genius!" he shouted, running for a notepad. He the small pad of paper and quickly wrote 'Mystery Inc.' in chicken scratch. He ripped out the sheet and waved it in front of his friends. "This is it, gang. We were meant to do this!"

"Can we form a band instead?" Daphne asked, twiddling the joint between her painted nails, "Fred kills on the drums." Fred started tapping on his knees, and Daphne began to sing incoherently. Shaggy became frustrated; he felt so much false clarity of that absurd idea. He slammed the pad on the table, startling a snoozing Velma.

"This is serious guys," he pressed, looking briefly at all of them. They giggled as if it were the _least_ serious thing in the world. Shaggy raved and ranted for several minutes, spouting words like 'Mystery Machine' and 'Ghosts' and 'Criminals.' Then he turned to the Great Dane lying on the floor. "You think it's a good idea, don't you Scoob?"

"Raggy, ro more for rou," the dog barked, trying to take his best friend's blunt. The gang laughed, but Velma suddenly piped up from her daze.

"I think Shaggy's on to something, guys," she said softly, "I think we were meant to do this.

"Like, yeah we were meant to do this!" Shaggy shouted. He then got up, walking to a back room of his basement and emerging with a can of paint.

"Shagster, what are you doing?" Fred asked while Shaggy started up the stairs.

"We've got our Mystery Machine," he began, referring to his volts wagon microbus, "All it needs is a paint job."


	3. Chapter 3

The looming night tinted the sky, and the driveway was illuminated by the porch light. Four teenagers stood in the front yard, arms full with paint tins and brushes. In the driveway, an old, timeworn van sat dormant. It seemed as though the retro vehicle hadn't moved in years, even though it had been used to bring a certain skinny junkie to school and back just that day. The kids eyed the vehicle, contemplating the possibilities with hands placed purposefully on their hips. For several minutes, no one spoke.

"All right," Shaggy arose, slapping a long-fingered hand on the hood of his ride, "Daphne: You've got the blue paint. Like, how about you start by painting the whole thing blue?" Fred seemed slightly irate that the scrawny pothead was dictating: especially when it came to his girlfriend. The blond puffed out his chest to assert his masculinity. Meanwhile, Daphne whined in protest.

"How come we can't paint it pink?" she complained in perhaps the most girlish voice humanly possible. All three others, with the slight exception of an extraordinarily out-of-it Velma, gave Daphne a reproachful stare, causing the redhead to role her eyes and pop open the can of blue paint reluctantly. With a thick brush, she began to carefully lather the metal in blue.

The girl's skillful painting soon took a turn for the worse, and eventually she started to simply slop blue paint onto the van straight from the bucket. The rest of the gang helped, of course, and soon the large van and the four teenagers were all coated in blue. For no reason in particular, Daphne and Fred found this to be quite the turn-on; they were making out in a matter of seconds after the first task was complete.

The next task, according to Shaggy, was to add green and orange. He insisted that this job required more precision, so he humbly placed himself in charge of the deed. With a few skillful sweeps of the brush that would have made Picasso proud, the boy embellished the van with patterns completed in green and hippy flowers blossoming in orange. The final touch on his masterpiece was to paint, in bold orange lettering, the words 'The Mystery Machine' on the broad side of the car. Stumbling back, Shaggy marveled at his finished art. The drug-addled teen was convinced that the paint job was the best idea of his life.

"Wow," came the soft, feminine voice from behind him. Shaggy peered over a skinny, t-shirt clad shoulder to see Velma sitting quietly on the edge of his driveway. Her wide eyes were glazed over from both amazement and inebriation, but something about the way her thick lips hung slightly open in awe made the seventeen year old burnout feel warm inside.

Shaggy realized seconds later that Fred and Daphne weren't in sight. Turning back to his finished work, he half-heartedly called their names. After a few seconds, Shaggy heard the clanging of trashcans. The two missing kids emerged from his garage with unkempt hair and disheveled blue clothing. Shaggy could have sworn Velma had whispered the word 'Jinkies!' upon realizing what they'd been up to for the last couple of minutes.

"Jesus, Jones! Like, couldn't you keep your hands off the lady for five minutes?" Shaggy eyed the pair expectantly. The tall jock smiled in reply and shook his head proudly, giving his girl one last slap on the ass. The other boy shook his head disapprovingly, trying to shift his focus away from his disgusting new friends and back to the van. Gesturing to his work, he asked, "So, gang, what do you think?"

"Looks wonderful, Shagster," Fred chuckled, with his face suddenly turning regretful, "But the three of us actually have to start headin' out now. Daph and I said we'd come by Danny Boy's house tonight, and poindexter here…" he gestured to Velma rudely, "…probably has got some studying to do."

"It's all good, man," Shaggy said casually, clapping his hand amiably into Fred's. After he was released from the shake, he used his now free hand to help Velma up from the driveway. The petite girl smiled stupidly up at him, wrapping her orange-sweatered arms around his tiny waist as she stood fully.

"Thanks for tonight," she said sweetly. Then, standing on tip-toes in her little red shoes, she kissed the scruffy boy softly on the cheek. Smiling again, she stumbled after Daphne and Fred, who were already stepping into the car.

As Shaggy watched them go, he could hear the front door being pushed open. Scooby came bounding out, sitting obediently by his master and friend. The dog stared up at Shaggy with big, concerned brown eyes.

"Ruts wrong, Raggy?" he asked his friend, who had his eyes glued to the road before him. Shaggy laughed, gently pressing his slender fingers to his lips.

"I dunno, buddy," he chuckled, "I've been smoking for, like, five years now. Still, even the best herb I've ever had couldn't beat the high I got from the kiss from that pretty little nerd girl…" Shaggy stared blissfully into the distance, reliving that beautiful moment.

"Ralright, rat's enough reed for rou," Scooby snorted, and the two of them chuckled the whole walk back inside.


End file.
